(Ed. Note: This story was originally published by Bridge Michigan, a nonprofit and nonpartisan news organization. Visit the newsroom online: bridgemi.com.)
By Janelle D. James
Bridge Michigan
Fifty years ago, residents in the Upper Peninsula faced a choice that could have rewritten the map: Whether to break away from Michigan and form the nation’s 51st state.
In a region where some root for the Green Bay Packers over the Detroit Lions, Wisconsin has often felt a little closer than Lansing, fostering a centuries-old idea that the U.P. might be better off forming its own state.
The question of Michigan secession went before Marquette and Iron Mountain voters in November 1975, when they ultimately rejected a ballot proposal, ending the latest and last serious attempt at creating the “State of Superior.”
About 29 percent of Marquette voters had backed the split, and about 32 percent in Iron Mountain, according to a New York Times article from the time.
While many Yoopers continue to take pride in the region’s independent streak, tensions between the peninsulas came to a head five decades ago due to unique circumstances, said Dan Truckey, director of the Beaumier U.P. Heritage Center at Northern Michigan University.
The U.P. is rich in minerals such as iron ore, copper and nickel — resources that helped fuel Michigan’s industrial growth during the mid-19th century. But after World War II, mining operations slowly declined in the region as competition grew and prices for minerals decreased.
“Almost all of the mining operations in the U.P. had closed down,” Truckey told Bridge Michigan. “By 1975, there were only two operational mines in the U.P. Financially, it was a strapped area and a lot of people in the U.P. felt that the state wasn’t supporting them enough.”
During that time, miners who were struggling supported secession efforts to combat environmental laws they felt were unjust, historian Camden Burd wrote in “The Liberal Heartland: A Political History of the Postwar American Midwest.”
“Supporters of the new ‘State of Superior’ explicitly denounced the Clean Air Act, the National Wilderness Preservation System, and the anti-economic development rhetoric of the more radical wings of the environmental movement,” he wrote.
Another reason people called for secession in the 1960s and 1970s was the Mackinac Bridge. When it opened in 1957, it linked Michigan’s two peninsulas, and some residents saw that connection as a threat to their culture.
“There were a lot of people in the U.P. that were really concerned that that would really change the culture here, that we would be overrun by the people in the Lower Peninsula and that we could become just like the Lower Peninsula,” Truckey said.
Michigan had been awarded the U.P. by Congress after the Toledo War ended in 1836. While gaining the mineral-rich region was considered a win for Michigan, residents in the U.P. argued that the capitals of Michigan and neighboring state, Wisconsin, were too far from the remote regions.
At the time, the most reliable form of transportation between the two peninsulas was the Michigan State Ferry System. But once the Mackinac Bridge opened, it became a symbol of unity.
A few years after the failed secession vote in Iron and Marquette County, the term ‘yoopers’ – derived from ‘U.P.-ers’ — was coined, with the earliest known publication coming in the Escanaba Daily Press in 1979.
“We have a much stronger identity now as ‘Yoopers’ than we did in 1957 when they opened the bridge,” Truckey said. “So I think it had the opposite effect.”
—————
A long push
The idea of creating a “Superior” — or separate — U.P. state was not new in 1975. Proposals to separate from the rest of Michigan had surfaced multiple times, some dating back to the 1800s.
“At times it has been a serious movement, and at other times a novelty. But whatever has prompted sporadic efforts at statehood, the issue always has been a popular one,” James Carter wrote in his 2011 book “Superior, a state for the North Country.” “There is probably no other proposal which has been discussed as long or as earnestly throughout the North Country.”
In 1827, Austin Wing, Michigan’s territorial delegate to Congress, wrote a bill for statehood that passed the U.S. House but died in the Senate. It was supported by Michigan Territorial Governor Lewis Cass, who wanted to govern the potential state.
The effort continued the following decade, when another bill for statehood was introduced in 1830 but didn’t include the eastern part of the U.P. — an attempt to gain support from the Lower Peninsula. Then, in 1835, there was another attempt for the region to gain statehood, which included the original boundaries but also failed.
More than a century later, state Rep. Dominic Jacobetti helped lead the push for U.P. statehood, introducing legislation and asking then-Attorney General Frank Kelley for a legal opinion on the viability.
“He printed t-shirts and posters and all of this stuff … but essentially it wasn’t going to happen, he knew it wasn’t going to happen,” Truckey said of Jacobetti, who became the longest serving member of the state Legislature and was committed to funding projects in the U.P. until his death in 1994.
“It was more about drawing attention to the needs of the U.P. and for the state to support it economically and help its infrastructure and that’s exactly what happened.”
—————
The 51st state?
The U.S. Constitution grants Congress the power to admit a state into the union, but a new state can’t be formed within another state, nor can two states become one.
Over the past 50 years, the idea of U.P. statehood has surfaced only sporadically and rarely seriously.
In 2012, the Marquette County Board of Commissioners briefly discussed statehood again amid frustration over state aid for schools. In 2023, the Libertarian Party of Michigan published a “case for secession” essay.
A long-shot gubernatorial hopeful, meanwhile, has proposed appointing a separate lieutenant governor for the U.P. to treat it independently.
The 1975 push failed, in part, due to concerns over the financial impact and the U.P.’s ability to fund its own services.
“I fear that statehood… would place a tremendous tax burden on Northern Michigan citizens,” U.S. Rep. Philip E. Ruppe of Houghton said in 1975, according to Carter’s book. Ruppe noted the U.P. “benefitted from a number of state programs and services funded by a large amount of revenue raised from downstate areas,” Ruppe wrote.
While it wouldn’t have been the smallest state in terms of square miles, the U.P would have been the least populated. At about 16,500 square miles, it’s larger than nine states, including New Hampshire, New Jersey, Rhode Island and Connecticut. But only about 301,600 residents live in the UP, accounting for about 3 percent of the state’s population, according to the 2020 census.
“The reality that people understood is that the U.P. on its own could not support the infrastructure that the state was providing the U.P.,” Truckey said.
By Janelle D. James
Bridge Michigan
Fifty years ago, residents in the Upper Peninsula faced a choice that could have rewritten the map: Whether to break away from Michigan and form the nation’s 51st state.
In a region where some root for the Green Bay Packers over the Detroit Lions, Wisconsin has often felt a little closer than Lansing, fostering a centuries-old idea that the U.P. might be better off forming its own state.
The question of Michigan secession went before Marquette and Iron Mountain voters in November 1975, when they ultimately rejected a ballot proposal, ending the latest and last serious attempt at creating the “State of Superior.”
About 29 percent of Marquette voters had backed the split, and about 32 percent in Iron Mountain, according to a New York Times article from the time.
While many Yoopers continue to take pride in the region’s independent streak, tensions between the peninsulas came to a head five decades ago due to unique circumstances, said Dan Truckey, director of the Beaumier U.P. Heritage Center at Northern Michigan University.
The U.P. is rich in minerals such as iron ore, copper and nickel — resources that helped fuel Michigan’s industrial growth during the mid-19th century. But after World War II, mining operations slowly declined in the region as competition grew and prices for minerals decreased.
“Almost all of the mining operations in the U.P. had closed down,” Truckey told Bridge Michigan. “By 1975, there were only two operational mines in the U.P. Financially, it was a strapped area and a lot of people in the U.P. felt that the state wasn’t supporting them enough.”
During that time, miners who were struggling supported secession efforts to combat environmental laws they felt were unjust, historian Camden Burd wrote in “The Liberal Heartland: A Political History of the Postwar American Midwest.”
“Supporters of the new ‘State of Superior’ explicitly denounced the Clean Air Act, the National Wilderness Preservation System, and the anti-economic development rhetoric of the more radical wings of the environmental movement,” he wrote.
Another reason people called for secession in the 1960s and 1970s was the Mackinac Bridge. When it opened in 1957, it linked Michigan’s two peninsulas, and some residents saw that connection as a threat to their culture.
“There were a lot of people in the U.P. that were really concerned that that would really change the culture here, that we would be overrun by the people in the Lower Peninsula and that we could become just like the Lower Peninsula,” Truckey said.
Michigan had been awarded the U.P. by Congress after the Toledo War ended in 1836. While gaining the mineral-rich region was considered a win for Michigan, residents in the U.P. argued that the capitals of Michigan and neighboring state, Wisconsin, were too far from the remote regions.
At the time, the most reliable form of transportation between the two peninsulas was the Michigan State Ferry System. But once the Mackinac Bridge opened, it became a symbol of unity.
A few years after the failed secession vote in Iron and Marquette County, the term ‘yoopers’ – derived from ‘U.P.-ers’ — was coined, with the earliest known publication coming in the Escanaba Daily Press in 1979.
“We have a much stronger identity now as ‘Yoopers’ than we did in 1957 when they opened the bridge,” Truckey said. “So I think it had the opposite effect.”
—————
A long push
The idea of creating a “Superior” — or separate — U.P. state was not new in 1975. Proposals to separate from the rest of Michigan had surfaced multiple times, some dating back to the 1800s.
“At times it has been a serious movement, and at other times a novelty. But whatever has prompted sporadic efforts at statehood, the issue always has been a popular one,” James Carter wrote in his 2011 book “Superior, a state for the North Country.” “There is probably no other proposal which has been discussed as long or as earnestly throughout the North Country.”
In 1827, Austin Wing, Michigan’s territorial delegate to Congress, wrote a bill for statehood that passed the U.S. House but died in the Senate. It was supported by Michigan Territorial Governor Lewis Cass, who wanted to govern the potential state.
The effort continued the following decade, when another bill for statehood was introduced in 1830 but didn’t include the eastern part of the U.P. — an attempt to gain support from the Lower Peninsula. Then, in 1835, there was another attempt for the region to gain statehood, which included the original boundaries but also failed.
More than a century later, state Rep. Dominic Jacobetti helped lead the push for U.P. statehood, introducing legislation and asking then-Attorney General Frank Kelley for a legal opinion on the viability.
“He printed t-shirts and posters and all of this stuff … but essentially it wasn’t going to happen, he knew it wasn’t going to happen,” Truckey said of Jacobetti, who became the longest serving member of the state Legislature and was committed to funding projects in the U.P. until his death in 1994.
“It was more about drawing attention to the needs of the U.P. and for the state to support it economically and help its infrastructure and that’s exactly what happened.”
—————
The 51st state?
The U.S. Constitution grants Congress the power to admit a state into the union, but a new state can’t be formed within another state, nor can two states become one.
Over the past 50 years, the idea of U.P. statehood has surfaced only sporadically and rarely seriously.
In 2012, the Marquette County Board of Commissioners briefly discussed statehood again amid frustration over state aid for schools. In 2023, the Libertarian Party of Michigan published a “case for secession” essay.
A long-shot gubernatorial hopeful, meanwhile, has proposed appointing a separate lieutenant governor for the U.P. to treat it independently.
The 1975 push failed, in part, due to concerns over the financial impact and the U.P.’s ability to fund its own services.
“I fear that statehood… would place a tremendous tax burden on Northern Michigan citizens,” U.S. Rep. Philip E. Ruppe of Houghton said in 1975, according to Carter’s book. Ruppe noted the U.P. “benefitted from a number of state programs and services funded by a large amount of revenue raised from downstate areas,” Ruppe wrote.
While it wouldn’t have been the smallest state in terms of square miles, the U.P would have been the least populated. At about 16,500 square miles, it’s larger than nine states, including New Hampshire, New Jersey, Rhode Island and Connecticut. But only about 301,600 residents live in the UP, accounting for about 3 percent of the state’s population, according to the 2020 census.
“The reality that people understood is that the U.P. on its own could not support the infrastructure that the state was providing the U.P.,” Truckey said.
Voters in Marquette and Iron Mountain shut down a 1975 bid for the UP to form the ‘State of Superior,’ ending more than a century of similar proposals.
Courtesy of the U.P. Heritage Center
Courtesy of the U.P. Heritage Center
Michigan Still Shields Governor, Lawmakers from FOIA as High Fees Hinder Access
By Lee Marentette
MPAF/Trott Foundation 2025 Fellow
A decade ago, Michigan was dead last in national government transparency rankings.
While it has made some improvements, Michigan, alongside Massachusetts, remains one of two where both the governor and the legislature are exempt from public records laws.
The Michigan Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) allows access to most records of public bodies. The most recent legislation aimed at changing FOIA was rejected last month by House Speaker Matt Hall, in favor of reforms to publicly disclose legislative earmarks before the state budget was passed.
Moves like Hall’s raise the question of where we stand nationally when it comes to providing access to government records.
Collaborative journalism nonprofit MuckRock assists in filing and tracking public information requests across the country. Their website provides up-to-date statistics on each state, which can help gauge where Michigan ranks today.
Statewide, 21 percent of requests come with a fee attached, which is the fourth highest rate in the country; Oregon is the highest at 27.6 percent.
The average cost of a public records request in Michigan is nearly $5,200, which is the 13th highest in the nation; California is highest at $31,565, but only requests fees 2.7 percent of the time.
University of Florida’s Freedom of Information Project Director David Cuillier has spent two decades researching government information. A report he authored in 2019 using MuckRock data found a correlation between better transparency and stricter provisions, particularly short response deadlines and mandatory fee-shifting.
Michigan’s law contains both of these, as well as very high fees for violations. Possibly due to these factors, Michigan does rank among the middle of the states in requestor success rate at 34 percent; Alabama has the worst success rate at 15.8 percent.
However, expensive fees still present a significant challenge to citizens seeking public records.
While the overall success rate may be high in Michigan, the cost may dissuade many requestors from seeking information in the first place.
Cuillier suggested every state should have an independent office, or ombudsman, to aid the public and ensure the law is followed correctly. One state that does this is Connecticut. To him, transparency success comes down to one important part of the law:
Enforcement.
In Michigan, every public body designates its own FOIA coordinator, and the way different offices approach requests can vary. He stressed that FOIA is less effective when run from within an agency, where it is susceptible to abuse through exorbitant fees.
“You could pass the best law in the world, but if it has no teeth, the government is just going to ignore it, and it won't make a difference,” Cuillier said.
In Lansing, state lawmakers have gotten used to operating with no concern about FOIA at all.
Attorney General Dana Nessel believes that in the State Capitol a culture has developed that sees transparency laws as a nuisance rather than a necessity for open government. She says legislators have become accustomed to candid, sometimes hostile email correspondence and may be more reluctant to discuss bills if made publicly available.
“If all you've ever known is that these conversations are not made public - these conversations are not exposed - you get used to it,” Nessel said. “Then when you feel like you have to do more than that, all you can see is the negatives.”
Nessel says FOIA requests have also been increasingly used for what she categorizes as harassment, both from the public and lawmakers, particularly the House Oversight Committee. A large increase in requests also has put a strain on her office.
Because of long response time, exorbitant fees and exemptions, many journalists increasingly work around, or without, FOIA requests.
Ron Fonger of the Flint Journal covered the Flint water crisis largely without FOIA, primarily through public meetings. Records that Fonger did report on were self-released by then-Gov. Rick Snyder’s administration following public pressure, or were revealed through criminal prosecutions.
“I don’t know that we ultimately received everything that otherwise would have been subject to FOIA,” Fonger said.
Government officials have become increasingly resistant to records requests, according to MLive President John Hiner. He believes that a system with high fees and long waits to receive those records is working against the public not for it.
“We spend tens of thousands of dollars a year just to get information that, in a more transparent state, we wouldn’t have to pay anything (for),” Hiner said.
With no success in creating a legislative solution to expand FOIA to include the governor and legislature, many have suggested alternative measures as an option.
Nessel said many candidates have run on pro-transparency platforms only to abandon promises to expand FOIA once in office.
Any proposed change to Michigan’s FOIA law may need to be put on a statewide ballot to decide, Nessel said.
Lobbyists and news outlets have been trying to no avail to get legislation passed for the last decade. They, too, have begun to look elsewhere. A statewide poll from the Michigan Press Association in 2025 indicated 89 percent of Michigan voters would support a ballot initiative to change the law.
“Once these people are in positions of authority, and they've been benefiting from something like a lack of FOIA, they're just not going to (change the law),” Nessel said. “It's got to be through a ballot proposal.”
All MuckRock data used was from Nov. 29. As this data is continually updated, results may have fluctuated slightly in the time since.
—————
Lee Marentette is a junior at Grand Valley State University. He serves as the news editor of the Grand Valley Lanthorn.
MPAF/Trott Foundation 2025 Fellow
A decade ago, Michigan was dead last in national government transparency rankings.
While it has made some improvements, Michigan, alongside Massachusetts, remains one of two where both the governor and the legislature are exempt from public records laws.
The Michigan Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) allows access to most records of public bodies. The most recent legislation aimed at changing FOIA was rejected last month by House Speaker Matt Hall, in favor of reforms to publicly disclose legislative earmarks before the state budget was passed.
Moves like Hall’s raise the question of where we stand nationally when it comes to providing access to government records.
Collaborative journalism nonprofit MuckRock assists in filing and tracking public information requests across the country. Their website provides up-to-date statistics on each state, which can help gauge where Michigan ranks today.
Statewide, 21 percent of requests come with a fee attached, which is the fourth highest rate in the country; Oregon is the highest at 27.6 percent.
The average cost of a public records request in Michigan is nearly $5,200, which is the 13th highest in the nation; California is highest at $31,565, but only requests fees 2.7 percent of the time.
University of Florida’s Freedom of Information Project Director David Cuillier has spent two decades researching government information. A report he authored in 2019 using MuckRock data found a correlation between better transparency and stricter provisions, particularly short response deadlines and mandatory fee-shifting.
Michigan’s law contains both of these, as well as very high fees for violations. Possibly due to these factors, Michigan does rank among the middle of the states in requestor success rate at 34 percent; Alabama has the worst success rate at 15.8 percent.
However, expensive fees still present a significant challenge to citizens seeking public records.
While the overall success rate may be high in Michigan, the cost may dissuade many requestors from seeking information in the first place.
Cuillier suggested every state should have an independent office, or ombudsman, to aid the public and ensure the law is followed correctly. One state that does this is Connecticut. To him, transparency success comes down to one important part of the law:
Enforcement.
In Michigan, every public body designates its own FOIA coordinator, and the way different offices approach requests can vary. He stressed that FOIA is less effective when run from within an agency, where it is susceptible to abuse through exorbitant fees.
“You could pass the best law in the world, but if it has no teeth, the government is just going to ignore it, and it won't make a difference,” Cuillier said.
In Lansing, state lawmakers have gotten used to operating with no concern about FOIA at all.
Attorney General Dana Nessel believes that in the State Capitol a culture has developed that sees transparency laws as a nuisance rather than a necessity for open government. She says legislators have become accustomed to candid, sometimes hostile email correspondence and may be more reluctant to discuss bills if made publicly available.
“If all you've ever known is that these conversations are not made public - these conversations are not exposed - you get used to it,” Nessel said. “Then when you feel like you have to do more than that, all you can see is the negatives.”
Nessel says FOIA requests have also been increasingly used for what she categorizes as harassment, both from the public and lawmakers, particularly the House Oversight Committee. A large increase in requests also has put a strain on her office.
Because of long response time, exorbitant fees and exemptions, many journalists increasingly work around, or without, FOIA requests.
Ron Fonger of the Flint Journal covered the Flint water crisis largely without FOIA, primarily through public meetings. Records that Fonger did report on were self-released by then-Gov. Rick Snyder’s administration following public pressure, or were revealed through criminal prosecutions.
“I don’t know that we ultimately received everything that otherwise would have been subject to FOIA,” Fonger said.
Government officials have become increasingly resistant to records requests, according to MLive President John Hiner. He believes that a system with high fees and long waits to receive those records is working against the public not for it.
“We spend tens of thousands of dollars a year just to get information that, in a more transparent state, we wouldn’t have to pay anything (for),” Hiner said.
With no success in creating a legislative solution to expand FOIA to include the governor and legislature, many have suggested alternative measures as an option.
Nessel said many candidates have run on pro-transparency platforms only to abandon promises to expand FOIA once in office.
Any proposed change to Michigan’s FOIA law may need to be put on a statewide ballot to decide, Nessel said.
Lobbyists and news outlets have been trying to no avail to get legislation passed for the last decade. They, too, have begun to look elsewhere. A statewide poll from the Michigan Press Association in 2025 indicated 89 percent of Michigan voters would support a ballot initiative to change the law.
“Once these people are in positions of authority, and they've been benefiting from something like a lack of FOIA, they're just not going to (change the law),” Nessel said. “It's got to be through a ballot proposal.”
All MuckRock data used was from Nov. 29. As this data is continually updated, results may have fluctuated slightly in the time since.
—————
Lee Marentette is a junior at Grand Valley State University. He serves as the news editor of the Grand Valley Lanthorn.
